The Hanging Balance

Fortunate the loaded golden arrow strikes the eagles eyes blindly, the archer has set the vision so sharp that aim is marked pensively, full of grace the death note hit the bird as soon as the string was plucked, sped, raced and death, Screaming, the wild, the gifted plunged on to his feast for the night and took a sigh of breath.

The long walk down the hill, a relief on the face, a night like another to feast, build the fire, carry the bones, without the stones and let unleash the hunger beast, the loner had set the clock, set the fires to burn out till the end, the scotch had its own taste, sip by sip, bite by bite, cherished, life was going smooth without any haste.

Far away from the burden and cradlings of the city, no remorse, sorrows, no bindings, end of the meal, after the stomach healed, his pipe in his mouth and the guitar by his side, flashbacks, nostalgia, a cliché, on the chords for the songs he had made, on his own, all alone, addicted to himself, to life, there was nothing left for him to be afraid.

New dawn, new day, the routine, the un-abrupted silence of the wind and they kiss the leaves, greeted by nature, he could find his safe haven in this and has planted all his seeds, conceptual and the rational, with the dilemma of the heavy morality, this race disturbed the balance, let it loose and don’t strangle the ongoing of the events and let time get its precedence.